


Forbidden

by SmallLadyNavier



Category: Big Tiddy Goth Mama (Fanpires), Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Baiting, Big tiddy mama go purrrrrrr, F/F, Gen, I love Alcina ok, I wish she'd eat me alive, Impending violence, Omg i love her, Other, Possession, She is my mother, She might just eat you alive, She owns me man, Supernatural Elements, archive warnings subject to change, dat thigh meat tho, impending gore, mommy milkie, revelations tide high, she owns everybody, slow-burn intimacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29507484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallLadyNavier/pseuds/SmallLadyNavier
Summary: "Be hole, be dust, be dream, be windBe night, be dark, be wish, be mindNow slip, now slide, now move unseenAbove, beneath, betwixt, between."ㅡAlcina is the epitome of power, of eloquence and control, whereas you, little thing, were anything but thatㅡhow unfortunate for you when you seem to f o r g e t.
Relationships: Daniela Dimitrescu / Reader, Lady Dimitrescu (Resident Evil) & Reader, Lady Dimitrescu (Resident Evil) & You, Lady Dimitrescu (Resident Evil)/Reader
Comments: 33
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

"Be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind  
Be night, be dark, be wish, be mind  
Now slip, now slide, now move unseen  
Above, beneath, betwixt, between."

  
It was a personal mantra of yours for as long as you've lived; where it was adopted from you could not recall, the memory was cyclic, yet hazy--nevertheless it served you well, particularly since your inevitable conscription. Afterall, the village on its own selected solitude, and the people-namely the elderly-were decidedly unfriendly, even within the castle walls. For the most part you wouldn't let this bother you, becoming accustomed to getting by and by alone.

Ironically, curiosity was how you found and foolishly maintained your privilege of serving the ladies of Castle Dimitrescu.

__________

“Elodie, what in God's name are you up to at this devilish hour?” Someone, hushed and hurried, asks you. A modest yet pristinely polished basket accompanied by a menagerie of fruit is gathered before you. Ignoring the question entirely, you busily decorate the way that you’ve always done: A large bushel of grapes, halos of sweet cherries, very shiny apples, several plums and crops of strawberries kissed by the wild. Hand over palm works in quiet, relentless fashion for a time, pausing only to remember the satin ribbon.

“Are those-”  
You delicately rest a generous arrangement of round, freshly harvested black and red berries in the middle of the basket, a crown among subjects “Currants,” You answer, tying the ribbon thoughtfully, “they’re our Mistress’ most favoured fruit.” 

The girl raises an eyebrow, but says nothing to that. No one has ever really seen the lady of the castle to make such an assumption.

Well. No one except you.

_____________

The fabric of your dress has resolved to mock you, this you were certain of. Cotton and satin conspired together, itching your neck to no end as you cautiously navigate your way around ornate marble and jasper stone. Your footfalls are quick and full of purpose, fleeting for the telltale staircase leading you back to the servant quarters. There was a certain rush of adrenaline that came with this one-sided quest every other night--you yourself betting your luck on leaving what no one else would call your gratitude undetected.

“.....”  
Only after rounding a corner beyond the soft glow of lamplight do you stop at once to relieve that _damned itch of yours._. Indulging spares you bait for reflection which you shamelessly take: the echo of her comings and goings, the chance and audible pause once your offering was finally discovered-

As you shake your head and straighten, the breath you held captive puffs in tandem while descending the staircase. Transfixed by your hurry to return to bed, you never notice a gleam of gold observing from shadow.

_____________

  


“ **Then was it you?** ” The question was accusatory, destined to condemn. Like sheep in a pen were you and several servants corralled inside of the kitchens, pressed heavily by Daniela’s sheer force of presence. Up and down the line she stalked, halting only to question each of you about an anonymous, rambunctious little rabbit scampering in twilight hour through Castle Dimitrescu. One step, then another, and her pervasive grip only tightens. There’s a slight cackle of disbelief and frustration when her fingertips suddenly come to envelop your jawbone and she stares at you.

Daniela had asked you a question, and was growing rather impatient with your seemingly defiant behaviour.  
“Im afraid not, Miss Daniela,” came your all-too-ready, manufactured reply, "Unfortunately it isnt me either.”  
Daniela’s eyes narrow in slits, but after much deliberation and lack of evidence she begrudgingly moves on from you. Thankfully, she fails to catch a furtive glance you share with the servant girl and the basket across from you.  
What you do notice, though, is how it was now emptied save for discarded cores, stems, and few leaves. Not a currant in sight, you think, and you fight to wrestle the gratification steeping within.

_____________

  
  


Beneath the tender cloak of moonlight you plop one last ripened currant into the basket and fashion another ribbon on its handle just so.

“ _You are quite an industrious little rabbit, it seems_ .” Alcina’s musing is matter-of-fact and flavoured lightly with intrigue; gaze unwavering as you entertain her with your immediate stiffening and clumsy handling of cutting ware. A prickling heat begins to gnaw its way through the pit of your stomach as your frozen bones can’t help but disobey you.

“L-Lady Alcina.” You manage and abandon the handful of fruit on the counter altogether. You force your hands to clasp together, you force your head to dip, but Alcina Dimitrescu is not bound by the same limitations and moves much faster than you. Mottled moonlight both speckles and compliments the alabaster in her skin, while whispering intent in the reflection of her golden-yellow eyes. 

She pays the small ribbon tied around the basket a momentary glance.

“And if I am not mistaken," Alcina effortlessly commands focus from you, " it is _safe_ to assume that this rabbit takes it upon herself to freely roam the halls of my castle _however_ she fancies.” Her deduction drips with conviction, the glint in her eyes flickering as she watches acutely for a reaction. 

You fidget slightly, your shoulders itch, but her breath curls around your throbbing ears, coaxing the deafening thunder of your heart to still.

_Did she know that you could-_

“ **_Rabbit._** ”

“The Lady of the castle is fond of currants,” You blurt out, choking down fearful panic and agitation, “ I-I just noticed some time ago and thought-So I made baskets every now and then….” You trail and falter at an exhausted stop as you explain yourself. Your reasoning could easily have been misinterpreted as creeping, pursuant behaviour. 

If Lady Alcina arrived at the same misconstrued conclusion, she made no show of it. Instead, she favoured your lips with the tips of her fingers and chose to inspect you intently. Blood rushed down to your toes as an onset of chill overtook you, pooling into a tingle as her tentative grasp found its way to the back of your neck. Underneath Alcina’s scrutiny you shivered, which earned a quirk from the corner of her wine-red lips.

You couldn’t tell outright, but something about this scenario satisfied her.

And it satisfied _you_ .

“Beautiful baskets they are indeed, _Elodie_ .” Your eyes widen sharply, but Alcina already has you gradually pinned between herself and the counter with an arm snaking around your waist. At the tiniest hint of fidgeting her hold on you persists in keeping you captive. “Yes, I rather do enjoy currants, but you are very presumptuous and observant. What do you suppose we do with this revelation?”

You were really unsure how to answer this question. You weren’t sure if you should even _answer_ this question. Lady Dimitrescu knew that it was you lying in wait, and watching. She _knew_ that it was you, baiting chance and swooping her chambers to part those gifts. She already knew, but she came to catch you.

_You opportunistic little vermin._

“I-” You begin and you chew on your words carefully, grey eyes daring to meet her, “I…..believe that it would be best if you decided what should happen for your servant girl. Whatever you desire, My Lady.” This is what you get. This is what you get for letting your adoration put a toe of yours out of bounds-

You feel Alcina’s thigh press and tempt you, teeth ghost and graze the flesh of your clavicle as she laughs huskily against the shape of you.

“Darling,” She savours you, humouring herself in the palpable pleasure of your prey mentality, “your gratitude for me will be your _forbidden fruit_ .”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blows kiss* for the ladies of castle dimitrescu
> 
> i do not own the glorious franchise of resident evil. i only own this stupid fiction.

You moved in a perfunctory daydream afterward; every day--every task ebbed and flowed onto the next. It was a synchronized dance of rising earlier than the sun, swiftly falling into step, then working well into the night. Sleep had become such an afterthought for you, which several other servants found more than slightly strange, but it wasn’t like you to rest for too long. How could you?

Not with the looping fever dream of your chance encounter stewing-

  
  
_'I'm watching you, rabbitskin.'_  


**CLANG!**

“Were you born of an _Ox_ , Mihaela??” The overseer passed you by and shortly claimed the wrist of another girl, a blonde you often worked shoulder-to-shoulder with in the laundering room and kitchens. You’d never seen the overseer, Reveca, move so abrupt, until the scent of fragrant fermentation filled your nostrils and your stomach soured.

_Wine._

One of the younger vessels of Lady Dimitrescu’s dry wines. 

Mihaela was yanked away from the dark, pooling liquid coursing along the stone floor and already sputtering, “I’m sorry Reveca. I really didn’t mean to drop it, it just slipped-”

Reveca regarded her flatly and shoved a bundle of rags into her stained arms, “Apologies won’t replace this wine, girl, and excuses won’t mend this barrel. Just clean up the mess you’ve made and wash the stench of your careless mistake.”

The door to the large storage room slammed shut with a resounding bang as the overseer’s footsteps marched away.

Mihaela knelt beside a puddle and began sopping up the wine languidly. Her breathing was slow and steady, brows knitted and lips pursed, lost in thought and probably self-condemning.

You interrupted her with the offering of an extra mop and bucket.  
“Here, we can get it done quicker this way.”  
“Thank you Elodie.” She takes it gratefully, her eyes prickling.

__________

Sweat was beading at your temples, exacerbated every so often from having to wave pesky insects away. The two of you were almost finished, having toiled your way around the stone and sweeping up each bit of broken wood you both could find. Perfectionism and obsession, or was it fear?, made you comb over each other's chore until you both _believed_ it could not be smelled nor seen anymore.  
  
  
You wrinkled your nose over a particular section and scrubbed, the smell was still faint for you. And for some reason you felt that if you could still detect it, then surely your Lady and her daughters would too. So you scrubbed and scrubbed while Mihaela had finished and resigned herself to watching you. Or was she studying you?

“What is it?” You asked, not bothering to look up. This stubborn smell was going to be the death of you, “If you have something to say Mihaela you can just say it, you know.”

Mihaela’s mouth parted, then closed. “.....Do you……” She recanted, raising an eyebrow at the now glistening spot of stone, “Did you ever really see the Mistress, Elodie?”

You stiffen, momentarily paralyzed by the vision of cunning, honeyed eyes and teeth _imagined_ a tad too long. 

“Or any of her daughters?”

“....Why-”  
Mihaela didn’t exactly wait for you to answer. “ I’ve heard stories from different servants working in other parts of the castle. The maids in particular get to see them all very often. They say she’s very tall, incredibly tall. But some of the stories don’t make sense.” Her eyebrows knitted together again, “There’s this rumor going around that she-”

You sloshed your mop back into the bucket and made a point of swiveling it around noisily, refraining from cleaning for the umpteenth time. “I think we’ve done enough here, at least for Reveca. Let’s just put these away and throw the rest of this in the trash.”

“O-oh, yeah.” Mihaela’s expression wilted a bit, then grew confused when you swatted by your ear. “You okay there, Elodie?”  
“That stupid fly! It’s been getting on my last nerve since we’ve been in here,” You said, annoyed.  
“There’s a fly in here?”  
“You didn’t hear it?”  
“No? I haven’t even seen one.”

_____________

“Oh for the love of God, please not _now_ .” First it was the apples, then the elderberries, and finally the entire basket tumbled down the flight of stairs catty-cornered to you. The only thing left was a single twig of cherries in your hand, and you sighed. Lady Alcina was acknowledging your gift and it looked as if tonight you couldn’t deliver.

That sentence didn’t belong in your vocabulary: she was expecting you to, and you were smart enough to know that Alcina accepted nothing lesser. You would never offer anything lesser.

“Grab it all and start over, Elodie. She’ll understand.” You were lying to yourself, you _hoped_ she would understand. Because quite frankly, the Lady of the castle did not owe you a thing. And so you mindfully crept along the steps and shadowed these ironic breadcrumbs. It would be a quick retreat back into the kitchen once you were done and this would all be settled before you knew it. The basket could be made fresh, Alcina could accept it, and the day would begin all over again tomorrow.

Except for the fact that once you came upon currants sprawled over busted cobblestone, you had no clue as to where you were. 

“How in the hell-” A chilling draft drew in your shoulders and sewed your lips shut. Brick and mortar littered the floor, illuminated by torchlight along the corri-no, the hardened walls. You blinked a few times, fully assessing your surroundings: there was no oakwood, there was no marble, not even a golden inlay of any sort. There was nothing but masonry, chipped and bastardised over lengthy periods of time forming into a passageway. A foul, putrid stench flooded your sense of smell and your lips curled away from your teeth. 

The brewing realisation of you not belonging was piping hot, and you naturally resolved to turn-tail and leave. When you took a step backward, there was a pop! and squish underneath your boot and you grimaced. The _fruit._

“I’m getting what I find, and then I’m running the hell out of here.” You followed the bigger bunches first and scooped them hastily. Your breathing became calculated once every faculty went into locating this damn fruit as clandestine as possible.The further you went, the greater in concentration did that stench become. Mentally you cursed yourself for your willful stupidity, because there was _no_ justifiable reason to be on a scavenging hunt down here, even if you couldn't risk-

_“Put him here, Victória. Mother would prefer it end quickly.”_

A door, riddled and gnarled in age, opens with a bang and you duck so fast that you barely register knocking your head on the way down. The closest cover for you had been what you guessed was an old workbench, now covered in all types of cloth and other junk. Though your line of sight is obscured thanks to this, you’re able to audibly count the footsteps of at least two persons and hear the struggling grunts of someone else. Scuffling goes on for a few seconds, before a chain is wrestled where metal repeatedly meets wet flesh.

“ You filthy, fuggin’-!” A grown man gurgles and spits, followed up by a soft _tink!_ which may very well have been a few of his teeth. The poor bastard. “One day you cunts are going to burn in hell for every goddamned thing you’ve done! For everything you’ve done to my little girl!”

Squick!

The hairs of your skin stand on end, and you can do nothing but swat at the buzzing near your ears and swallow. Two and two were coming together like a lock and key and you _wished_ that you chose to follow your first mind when the choice was yours. Mihaela attempted to talk about a rumour that the tattered walls already knew, or thought they knew: that the ladies of this castle were into sinister dealings, and were the reason people turned up missing.

One of the women giggled mirthfully beside his ear and tapped his nose, “For what it’s worth, Stefan, mother took good care of her. Pressed and poured her into the finest set of bottles, you know. Five, wasn’t it? Natália?”

“I counted six,” Natália’s reply, you noted, was casual yet comfortable. Almost dismissive.

Victoria gripped a fistfull of the man’s hair and wrenched him forward, snickering, “ _Believe me, she was a once-in-a-lifetime bestseller_ .” 

“YOU FUC-”

Disgust, discomfort, and a feeling you could not place churned violently in your bowels. Clamping your lips strengthened you to resist the urge to blanche, lest you give away your position. This scenario was ethereal, jarring, and unnervingly grounding. You were witnessing, first-hand, a man on the verge of living his last moments alive.

“Did Mother, or did Mother not order you to handle him quickly and quietly?”

“Daniela,” Natália regarded what sounded like a swarming cloud of insects evenly, “You’re late.”

You swatted your ears again, this time listening acutely as fabric manifested and swayed to a stop in front of your view.

In front of _you_ .

“To be early is to be on time and to be on time is to be late--,” Daniela rebuffs in sing-song, lifting the very workbench you were huddled under. She spares no second swiping for you wildly, aiming to drag you up and out by any means necessary. However she misjudges and missteps the moment your fight or flight reflexes kick in. You dart away, sprinting off desperately into God knows where to the symphony of raucous laughter.

Where were you going to go?

**  
_“You can run, silly rabbit, but you’ve sealed your fate. So give us a show, give us a chase!”_  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP. it's all downhill from here. Sadly our Lady makes no appearance in this chapter, but she serves an honorable mention ;)  
> Tidbit:  
> For my fiction the names of Alcina's embraced daughters are Daniela, Natália, and Victória. 
> 
> Thank you everyone that left kudos and comments, and for reading! Yall have no idea how much I appreciate it bless.


End file.
